


Bucket List

by thatswutshesaid



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Hypothermia, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatswutshesaid/pseuds/thatswutshesaid
Summary: After the chase of a serial killer goes awry, John's in danger of freezing to death and thinks of all the things he wished he had done.Don't own characters, just having fun!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 126





	Bucket List

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little fic to cure my writer's block (;

John had a list. A bucket list, as most people call it. 

1\. He wanted to go on a safari.

2\. He wanted to have a vacation in the mountains, a little cabin in the pines. 

3\. He wanted to learn a new language. German had always interested him.

That was it. He had his whole life to come up with things he wanted to do, and that was it. And do you wanna know how many of them he did? _None._ Not a single one. And now, he realized, as he hung from the ceiling of an industrial freezer like a piece of meat, in nothing but pants, the air getting increasingly colder around him, he had a new list.

1\. He wanted to have tea with Mrs. Hudson one more time, actually wanted to listen to her as she rambled on about her sisters.

2\. He wanted to eat takeout with Sherlock and watch crap telly and listen to Sherlock point out all the scientific inaccuracies.

That used to annoy the shit out of him, but now John wanted nothing more than to be annoyed by that infuriating man. 

He tried not to think about how he couldn't even feel his feet as they just barely scraped against the metal floor.

3\. He wanted to go to dinner at Angelo's. He wanted him to put a candle between John and Sherlock, he wanted it to be _real._

4\. He wanted to have a pint with Greg.

5\. John wanted to kiss Sherlock just because he could, and he wanted Sherlock to kiss him back. 

6\. He wanted to tell Sherlock how he felt, even if he didn't reciprocate. John just wanted him to _know._

Right now, as his thoughts went at a slug's pace, he knew his first list was more realistic. He wasn't getting out of here. He knew that, accepted it even ten minutes after he first came to consciousness. He supposed it had to happen sometime, what with the dangerous life Sherlock and John lead. One day they'd get just a little too reckless, their minds just a tad too addled with adrenaline and the need to take a risk. And then one of them -or god forbid, both- would find themselves in a hole they couldn't climb out of. They weren't invincible.

The chains around his wrists rattled on as he shivered and shook, no longer able to feel his fingertips. John didn't know how long he'd last. He knew he was hypothermic, but he had no way of knowing what the temperature was, all he knew was that he was _cold._ So fucking cold. His brain begged him for rest, but he was desperately fighting to stay awake and aware. It was futile at best, and his brain eventually demanded that he go to sleep, and he was in no position to refuse. 

* * *

"What do you mean, you _lost_ him? He's not a phone, you can't just _misplace_ him!" Sherlock shouted at his over-groomed brother. Rage and fear consumed his brain and his veins, adrenaline high long gone. 

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Truly, I am, but Jeffrey Hayes is gone. You had to have known Dr. Watson wouldn't be with him anyway. Spend less time trying to find the killer, Sherlock, and instead on the person being killed." 

His legs, screaming from overuse, pleaded for rest, but Sherlock refused to even blink until John was back where he belonged. 

"Think, Sherlock. His victims were found with severe frostbite and the cause of death was hypothermia. Their lungs were empty of water, and the only place cold enough to kill a person without water here is-"

"A freezer. Yes, we already checked all the butchers and restaurants!"

"So look for private residences with exceptionally high electricity usage. Freezers like that take a lot of power." Sherlock shook his head irritably. "No judge would allow it. And certainly not fast enough," Mycroft nodded grimly. "I could check with my resources.." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Mummy misses you, you know. She'd be very delighted if you came over for supper." He threw his hands in exasperation. "Yes, yes, okay? _Now, find John!"_ His brother began typing away furiously at his laptop, leaving Sherlock to wait impatiently, wearing a hole in the floor. 

_Just a little while longer, John, okay? Please, oh God, just a little longer._

* * *

John barely stirred when the banging started, the sound hardly reaching his ears. "- ** _ohn!"_** John groaned, teeth clattering. " ** _John?! Are you in there?! Can you hear me?! We're getting you out!"_** The familiar voice soaked comfortingly into his bones, a disoriented smile creeping onto his face. "'rlock?" John's voice wasn't above a whisper, eyes half-lidded. But he felt it when a wave of warmth hit his face, the dim light now bright and revealing the most welcome sight in the world, something he wouldn't and couldn't take for granted ever again. 

"John! Can you hear me? The paramedics are coming, you'll be fine, alright? I need bolt cutters over here!" Sherlock barked out, wrapping his coat over John's torso, the spicy scent of Sherlock making him feel safe. "S-Sh-" He tried to spit the word out, but he was still so fucking cold and exhausted. _This better not be some fucked up dream._ Sherlock's hand touched his cheek warmly, and John was pissed because he couldn't really feel it. It was probably the most affection or physical contact he'd ever get from Sherlock, and he couldn't even _feel_ it! "Shh, it's okay. Just save your breath," John was vaguely aware of his tired, sore arms falling before he went back into a forced sleep.

* * *

John woke up to the smell of disinfectant and latex. He felt something like a heated blanket wrapped around him, and he peaked an eye open, wondering if maybe he was dead and God was just a neat freak or some shit. But the white walls and stiff mattress all said hospital. There was a large lump under the blankets and as his sleep-induced haze wore off, he became increasingly aware of another person's arms wrapped around him.

Confused, he lifted the blanket up a tad to peek under it. "Sherlock?" The man didn't wake, only shuffled further against John's chest. John's throat was suddenly dry as sand, and he poked Sherlock's shoulder, hissing softly at the achiness in his arms. Sherlock's silver-blue eyes peered up at him, a sleepy smile on his face. "Oh good, you're awake." Feeling increasingly awkward, John cleared his throat. "How do you feel?" John suppressed a shiver, completely unrelated to cold, at the voice, deep and rough with sleep. "S-Sore. Why, uh, why are you in bed with me?" Sherlock's deadly smirk made John's heart skip a beat. "Body heat. You should know, you're a doctor, after all." John chuckled nervously, breath hitching when Sherlock buried his face in his neck. 

"You seem very... affectionate?" Sherlock chuckled against his shoulder. "Problem?" John gulped. "No, it's... uh, it's nice." John gasped when he felt something hot and wet against his neck. "What-What are you doing?"

"Kissing your neck, obviously, do keep up, John." John rolled his eyes half-heartedly, wondering if there's any possible way he could be reading this wrong.

"So, uh, you-"

"Clearly," John smiled contentedly, a warmth spreading through him. "Then will you just kiss me, you tit?"

Sherlock's heart-shaped lips were as soft as John imagined them to be, the wet slide of his tongue against John's intoxicating and mind-boggling. It was soft but desperate, years of need finally having an outlet.

Well, one down, five to go.


End file.
